


Is this pity or sympathy?

by ImagineYourself



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Crime Fighting, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Past Torture, Peter Needs a Hug, Protective Wade, Scars, Serious Injuries, So much family bonding, Superfamily, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, lots of fluff tho, the violence isn't super graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:05:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14115948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineYourself/pseuds/ImagineYourself
Summary: Several years ago, after Tony adopted Peter at the age of fifteen and still new to his powers, he was kidnapped and held for ransom. Too bad Tony didn't play games like that. And too bad he was a little late. But it's a good thing Wade understands the therapeutic necessity of cuddles and intimacy.please read tags





	1. Is this friendship?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first page of this fic scribbled in between notes during class, then when I looked at it two weeks later I had absolutely no memory of why or what the story was. I sort of pulled this out of my ass and started working on it backwards, so things get explained from present to past each chapter.

_Present day_

  


He turned away. “You sure?” he asked, voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“Yeah.”

Peter sighed. He grasped his own shirt and pulled it slowly over his head. Skin, pale from lack of sunlight and freckles spotting randomly over the expanse. He held the fabric to his chest, still bunched around his arms, back bowed slightly as his chin dropped. 

“ _Oh_.”

He shuddered, blaming it internally on the cool air of the room. It had nothing to do with the burning gaze trained on him from behind.

He heard a sharp breath being sucked in.

“Don’t—” he started, wincing in anticipation of what was to come. He shut his eyes tightly.

“When?”

It was not the question he was expecting first. He choked out, “A few years. Not long after I got my powers.”

“Shit.”

“I—um—I—” he stuttered, finding it hard to speak.

“Whoa, hey. It’s okay.”

Hands were suddenly there, sliding over his sides around the hold him, back pressed to a strong chest. He shuddered again, this time centered in his lungs. He exhaled. 

“I’m right here. I’m not leaving. You’re okay now.”

The scars left a phantom ache. He could feel where the raised tissue was pressed to the suit, the false sense of lingering hurt borne from the pressure. He almost couldn’t stand it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Wade told him gently.

Peter didn’t realize he was crying until a gloved hand brushed his cheek. He caught it with his own, pressing his face into the broad palm cradling him. “You should know.”

“Petey—”

Shuffling a little, he turned around, pulling his shirt back on before wrapping his arms around Wade’s waist, pushing his face into his shoulder. Wade slowly returned the gesture, holding Peter tightly.

“You should know,” he said again. “I was fifteen, just after I started living at the tower.” Peter paused to take a breath and tried to relax his shoulders. “There were some guys who wanted to get to Tony. Money or something. But they took me, asked for ransom.”

Wade stiffened a little.

Peter chuckled, sadly. “Stupid of them. Dad doesn’t play games like that. He refused, came to rescue me.”

“Then how—?

“They thought if they hurt me, it would make Tony pay. Really it just made him more angry.” When he tried to laugh again, it came out more like a sob.

Squeezing him, Wade whispered, “Oh, baby. What did they do to you?”

“One of them.” Peter breathed. “He had a whole array of stuff. Definition of a sick bastard. He didn’t even say anything to me. I was drugged, so much it probably would have killed me if I didn’t have a healing factor. That wasn’t enough to help me though. He carved into me. I stopped feeling it after a while. I never even knew what it looked like until it was already healed. Tony didn’t want me to know.”

“Fucking hell . . .” Wade’s whole form was taut with tension.

“It was supposed to be a message to Tony but—”

“Please tell me those fuckers are dead. Otherwise . . .” He didn’t need to finish that sentence.

Peter clutched at him a little tighter. “Yes. The ones who aren’t are in prison. Nat and Clint were there, too. Everyone else knows what happened, but they never saw it.”

“Why?”

With another dark laugh, Peter said, “I already had three people who knew. I can’t even imagine what Steve would do if he saw . . .”

“What do you mean?” Wade sounded confused and Peter pulled away just enough to look up at his face with a drawn expression of his own.

“You don’t know what it’s supposed to be?” When Wade shook his head, Peter frowned. “It’s the mark of Hydra.”

Even through the mask, Peter could see the shock and hurt Wade was showing. It quickly turned to fury. “Those fucking Nazi bastards!” he hissed. 

“Wade, please,” Peter said softly. “They’re all gone now, anyway.”

It seemed to take Wade some effort to take a deep breath and let the tension bleed from his body. His embrace lightened, but it was no less comforting and protective. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thanks,” Peter added, quieter. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry baby boy. I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you.”

Peter just tucked his face into Wade’s neck. “I think I’m still messed up about it, but it’s gotten better over the years.”

“Yeah.”

Almost suddenly, Peter remembered Wade’s story; the torture he was put through, the pain he felt every day, the reminders of the hurt that remained burned on his body since Weapon X. Purposefully, Peter held onto him tighter. This way, they shared pain and nightmares, but Peter wanted to offer comfort as it was being offered to him. 

They stood like that for a long few moments, simply resting. Peter could hear the steady heartbeat in the chest below his ear and found himself wishing he could tell Wade what this meant to him. That Wade had not turned away or called him broken or said anything wrong . . . it was like he was a godsend.

For Peter, this was important. Perhaps moreso than any therapist he’d seen or doctor visit Tony had taken him to. This was, dare he say, something special.

He pulled away just as Wade did and said, “Thank you.”

Almost nervously, Wade reached his hands behind his head, trying to look nonchalant as he replied, “Yeah, no problemo mi cariño.” He was smiling under the mask, though, so Peter smiled back.

“I should probably get home,” Peter said wistfully, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, Petey-pie.”

This was kind of awkward now. So Peter just started moving towards the door, Wade following. The door was opened halfway in Peter’s grip before he turned around.

“Hey, Wade?”

Wade was leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed. “Hmm?”

Blinking at him a few times, Peter felt heat rise to his cheeks and he glanced down. Before he could chicken out or convince himself it was a bad idea, he quickly leaned in and pressed his lips to the side of Wade’s face. 

He was definitely blushing as he stepped back, but he pursed his mouth into what he hoped was a smile. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Wade seemed to shake himself. “Uh—yeah! Sure, yeah, whatever you want baby boy.” He unfolded his arms to shoot finger guns Peter’s way as he stepped out.

“Okay. Bye.” Peter’s brows were raised but he was amused more than anything. He started walking away.

He was almost sure Wade was staring at him from behind as he went, but when he looked back to check, the door was already shut. His face fell, almost frowning now that he was alone. 

Making the trek back to the tower was quick work and Peter turned his tracker back on as he went. Tony probably wouldn’t be happy when he eventually found out why Peter kept turning it off, but for now it was still his secret to keep. Wade was his secret to keep. 

Face flushing, Peter raised a hand to touch his lips. He could barely believe he’d done that. Kissed Wade! Sure, it was only on the cheek, but for Peter that was a huge step. Probably for Wade, too, he thought.

In the tower, he waved at security and stepped past into the private elevator which would bring him directly to the penthouse. Once inside, Jarvis greeted him with a, “Welcome back, Mr. Parker.”

“Hey, Jarvis. What’s going on today?” he asked, relaxing from hearing the familiar voice of the AI.

“Your father is working in the level 25 lab with Dr. Banner. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are preparing dinner. Thor arrived this morning and will be staying for an unknown amount of time.”

Peter bit his lip thoughtfully. “Huh. Thanks.”

“Is there anything else, sir?”

“Nah. I’ll just head to the kitchen.” 

“Very well.”

The elevator pinged not long after that, allowing Peter out into the main area of the living quarters. He could hear voices chatting amiably from the kitchen and almost turned in that direction.

Then, he saw Natasha watching him from across the room in an armchair. Her legs were crossed, her hands folded in her lap. She looked daunting, as terrifying as Peter knew she could be. Even when she smiled softly when she had his attention, Peter felt no less in danger.

Cautiously, he approached. “Hey, Nat,” he greeted, voice an octave higher than usual. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, Peter. Have a seat.” That smile was trained to be disarming, but Peter had wide eyes and a stone in his belly. “I wanted to have a word with you.”

“What about?” Peter tried to play it off cool, sinking back into the cushions of the couch next to her. 

She saw right through him, it was obvious.

Her smile never dimmed as she said, “You haven’t been around much lately.”

“Oh, you know, I’m out patrolling a lot—”

“Peter.” Just his name from her lips was like a shard of glass to the gut. He actually winced. “Today,” Natasha continued, “Clint was going to see an old friend about a job. He says he saw you wandering the streets, in civilian clothes no less. I don’t have to tell you who this old friend is, right?”

Peter was frozen to the spot. “Did you tell Tony?” he asked quickly.

She shook her head, thankfully. “Only Clint and I know.” Leaning forward, her expression darkening, Natasha said, rather than asked, “Do you even know who you’re dealing with?”

“Yes, I—”

“This isn’t some joke, Peter. He’s dangerous.”

Peter could feel himself starting to glare. What did she even know? “He’s a merc for hire, I know that.”

“And do you know of his past? Do you know all the shit he’s done, the people he’s killed?”

“I know about Weapon X. He told me.”

Natasha’s face twisted as she let out a short laugh of disbelief. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

Now fully glaring, mouth pinched with frustration, Peter said, “I don’t need you telling me who I can and can’t be friends with. That’s my decision.”

“You can’t just—”

“You’re supposed to be my friend, not my mom,” Peter muttered as he stood. 

Nat looked up at him impassively. “I could bring this to your dad,” she said pointedly.

“Don’t you dare. Look,” Peter sighed, “I get that you’re trying to protect me from the bad man. I get it. But please just leave this alone. He’s been nothing but good to me. I’m not going to stop being friends with him because you say so.”

Silently, Natasha shook her head. She leaned back, almost huffing. “Fine. Don’t come crying to me when it hits the fan.”

“Thanks,” Peter sneered. He turned away before he could make more of a fool of himself. Instead of going to kitchen, his original plan, he made for his bedroom.

There, at least, he could be alone with his now tumultuous emotions. 

He passed a sleepy looking Clint on his way but steered right past him, completely ignoring his presence. Not like Clint seemed to notice anyway. Once safely in his own room, next to Tony’s, Peter flicked the old fashioned lock he had installed when he’d first moved in. Just in case.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jarvis or Tony’s designs, he just felt a little more protected with a deadbolt in place. It at least could keep out most of the family when he just wanted to be left alone.

Flopping face first onto his bed, Peter let out a loud groan, muffled by his pillow. He shifted to his side when he couldn’t breathe and stared moodily at the pictures hanging on his walls. All shots he had taken, some from before—when Aunt May and Uncle Ben were still alive—and some from the past few years with the Avengers. 

There was even a photo of the first time he’d met Tony, just a couple of short months before he would be taken in by the man.

Peter stood and walked to it. He plucked it from the wall, looking at it closely. Tony was smiling but it was strained. Peter looked so young even though he hadn’t changed much in the four years since. 

It was the innocence between them in that photo that Peter both hated and loved. Compared to the one taken but a year later, where Peter’s smile was the one dimmed and Tony’s was more genuine. Stepping away, Peter collapsed onto his bed again, this time on his back.

He held the photo up above his face for a moment before letting his arms fall to his sides, the photo fluttering to rest on his blankets. He’d come to his room for moping, but he didn’t even understand how he was feeling or why.

“Mr. Parker,” Jarvis’ voice floated through the room. “Your father would like a word.”

Peter took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Tell him I’m not leaving my room.”

“Very well, sir.”

A few moments later there was a knock at his door. Groaning inwardly, Peter heaved himself to his feet and went to pull back the manual bolt. When he opened the door he was already walking back to his bed to lay on it.

“Hey, kid.”

“Did Nat talk to you?” Peter asked, emotionless.

“Uh, no?”

Peter rolled over to give him a look and found a haggard but obviously guilty expression on Tony’s face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Tony laughed. “Only to you.” The bed dipped as Tony sat on one corner then leaned back on an elbow, looking at him. “So, Deadpool?”

“I know what you’re going to say so spare me the lesson.” Peter shut his eyes. “He’s dangerous, blah, blah, he’s insane, blah, blah, I should stay away from him blah, blah, blah.”

Tony surprised him by snorting, but when Peter glanced over, he was met only with raised eyebrows. “Actually, I was gonna ask if you’ve fucked yet.”

“Dad!” Utterly scandalized, Peter sat up, his face probably bright red. “Oh my god, it’s not like that!”

“Really.” Tony was completely nonplussed. Then he grinned. “Peter, I don’t have to give you the spiel because Natasha already did, and if you’re not gonna listen to her, I’ve got no chance at changing your mind. That woman is scary.” He followed up with a shudder.

Peter’s face was probably doing something funny between a laugh and a grimace. “So, wait, you’re okay with it?”

“Eh, I didn’t say that,” Tony said, sobering.” Peter frowned as he continued, “Yeah, he’s dangerous, I won’t lie. If you want a boyfriend I’d say to look just about anywhere else. But you’re an adult now and I need to trust you.”

Tony said it like he was trying to convince himself as well as Peter. It was enough.

“I know what I’m doing,” Peter said softly.

The smile which answered him was wrought with something like melancholy. “You’re a good kid,” Tony told him.

Peter looked away, his eyes falling to the photo of them that was still resting on the bed near his hand. Tony followed his gaze and reached out to pick it up. It was a moment before he made any sort of reaction and even then it was only to chuckle.

“Remembering the past?” Tony asked, his voice holding only curiosity, no malice intended.

“Sort of.” Refusing to meet Tony’s eyes, Peter turned away slightly. “I told Wade about it today.” He didn’t need to say what exactly _it_ was.

There was a shift behind him, then Tony was wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He still held the picture, so they could both look at it. “Yeah,” Tony said. “Feels like a long time ago.”

Peter’s mouth twisted but he didn’t respond.

After a long minute, Tony said quietly, “Sometimes I wish I’d done better by you.”

“No, no.” Peter turned to him, reaching out to put his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “You’ve been great. I couldn’t ask for better.” Taking in a quick breath, he added, “It wasn’t your fault.” 

It looked like Tony was about to refute so Peter shushed him with a look and said firmly, “It wasn’t your fault.”

With a sigh and an exasperated smile, Tony relented. “Okay, okay. I know.”

“Good.” Peter smiled and patted his shoulders once before retreating again only to be pulled into a hug.

“If anything happens, tell me, yeah?” Tony said into his ear. “If I need to I’ll figure out a way to kill him permanently.”

Peter sucked air through his teeth and plastered on a nervous smile. “Sure, Dad.”

Backing off, Tony clapped a hand to Peter’s shoulder. “Well. Good talk.” He stood. “Come get some dinner, Steve made spaghetti.”

“Yeah, I’ll come in a sec.” Peter gave a reassuring smile as Tony left the room. He didn’t say anything about the picture still in Tony’s hand that he saw when he turned. Peter could let that one go.

  


. . .

  


_Six months ea_ _r_ _lier_

  


“So if the metal butt stick isn’t your dad, why do you call him that?”

Peter leaned back against the metal bars of the fire escape. He didn’t know why Wade needed to do recon from the fire escape at the 24 th floor specifically, but he knew better than to question Wade’s methods. Instead he just sat one landing above, spinning webs between his fingers to pass the time.

“It started as a joke.”

“What,” Wade laughed, “did you call him ‘daddy’ on accident?”

“Wade!” Peter complained loudly. He huffed. “No. Once the papers were through, Jarvis kept calling him my father. I started calling him Dad to be funny, but it sort of stuck.”

Peter purposefully did not say anything about how it became less of a joke when he was injured in a fight at seventeen and could barely speak into his comm. Deliriously, he was saying “dad” over and over until Tony found him, half rolled under a bus.

Yeah, Wade didn’t need to know that.

“Huh,” was all Wade said.

A few moments passed in silence.

“Wade?”

“What up, buttercup?”

“Are you gonna be done soon?”

“Can’t rush beauty, sweetheart.”

Peter sighed. “This isn’t art class. We’re not going to a drag show either.”

“How do _you_ know?” Wade retorted petulantly. “There’s a big one coming up in a couple of weeks I think. We should go.”

“A drag show?”

“No, an art class. Of course a drag show! You have no idea how good this bod looks in a dress. “ Peter laughed loudly and covered his mouth. “Ooh, you’d look gorgeous in a little black thing, baby boy. Form fitting, backless, I can see it now.”

Now chuckling nervously, discomfort taking root, Peter just said, “Ha, yeah. I think I’d rather stay home actually.”

“Aw, no fun.” Wade was pouting by the sound of his voice.

Now distinctly uncomfortable at even the mention of him wearing a backless dress, Peter stood and stretched. “Right, well. If you’re gonna be sitting out here all night, I might as well go home.”

“Spidey, no!” There was a clang, a curse under his breath, then suddenly Wade was climbing up the stairs on all fours. He looked up at Peter with puppy eyes. “I’m done, I swear! We can go get tacos!”

Pretending to think about it, Peter hummed and hawed. “I dunno, DP.”

“Come on, please?” Wade was up on his knees, his hands hanging at his chest like a dog begging.

“All right.” Peter laughed and nudged Wade with the tip of his boot as the merc crawled around him, cheering. Peter had to roll his eyes. “Take me home, country road,” he said jokingly, prompting Wade to stand, grab him around the waist with one arm, and procure a grappling gun from somewhere on his person.

“Oh no!” Peter had just enough time to shout before they were sailing away, Wade cackling in his ear as they dropped seamlessly to the alley below. 

As soon as his feet were on the ground, Peter pushed Wade away and said, “I hate when you do that.”

“Yeah I know.” Wade’s voice was the embodiment of mischief. Peter decided to let it slide as Wade took his hand and started pulling him into the street, saying some sort of gibberish about pico de gallo. No, Peter distinctly heard, “Tengo un gato en mis pantalones!”

Sometimes Peter wondered just how many screws were loose in Wade’s head.

  


Tacos went smoothly. As smooth as it could be when two masked men entered an establishment to order approximately twenty tacos of various meat varieties. Each.

They sat outside on the curb to eat and handed a few of the tacos to a distraught looking woman carrying a toddler. She had smiled and thanked them with tired eyes but her kid was ecstatic about the tacos. Peter even got a high five.

“Kids are cute,” Wade was saying, sometime later.

“Sure.” 

Peter wasn’t really paying attention, he was concentrating on the sound of sirens in the distance. Quickly, he got up and pulled Wade with him, setting off at a brisk pace. Thankfully, Wade didn’t even ask where they were going, just followed, though he said something along the lines of, “I bet Captain America was a cute kid.”

That was one for the books, Peter thought. They arrived at the scene, about six police cars in a line with officers hunkered behind. A helicopter was on its way by the sound of it.

“Shit.” Peter followed Wade’s gaze when he cursed and drew a gun. Then another.

Peter had to crane his neck to look all the way up at the thing as it bounced into the sky then came crashing down on top of a cruiser. “What the donk?” Peter whispered.

Wade moved before he did, aiming but holding his fire, as the police were doing. “That is  _sick_ ! I regret the tacos—”

Barely giving him a glance, Peter flicked a web to a nearby light pole. He landed atop, now with a vantage. The thing was the size of three people smushed together which was exactly correct. Limbs were merged and sticking out at all angles, the center of the  _body_ was covered in the mixed fabrics of clothing. There was a head, maybe two? Peter couldn’t exactly tell. Whatever it was, it was strong. It flung itself into the air again off hands and feet but landed in the same place.

It rolled around, trapped by the cars even though the cops seemed like they had no idea what to do with it. Peter didn’t either.

He called down to Wade and the officers, “So, uh, I’m just going to try webbing this thing so it stops moving. Then . . . uh, let’s worry about that later.”

With a few wordless cheers to back him up and a, “Be careful, honey!” from Wade, Peter made his first move. He attempted to get some of the limbs together, wrapping coils of web around two or three of them. He met his match when a duo of legs kicked him in the chest, sending him flying.

It just so happened that he flew right into the destroyed car. And directly into a shard of metal. It cut along his shoulder blade, but he could tell it was only a surface wound. Moving fast, he jumped back into action.

Now staying a careful distance back, but still close enough to wrangle the flailing hands and feet, Peter got the remaining few under wraps. He tried to find a head in the mess and several officers hesitantly came forward. Wade, who had holstered one gun, bounded over.

“Nice work, Spidey!” he said, smacking a hand on Peter’s arm. It made the slice on his skin prick with sharp pain and he made a weird noise. “Oh shit, oops. You’re still bleeding.”

“What?” Peter asked, only half listening, the other half of his attention was on the mostly visible face between two feet. “Can you hear me?” he asked the face, wide eyes staring at him uncomprehendingly. 

The mouth opened but no sound came out. Peter looked around for help, but someone was already phoning SHIELD and Peter figured they could take this the rest of the way.

“I said you’re bleeding!” Wade said into his ear, voice loud.

Peter glanced over his shoulder and saw that Wade was right. That metal may have only cut the skin, but it was dripping quite a bit. “I gotta get home,” he tried to say.

Wade was already pulling him from the crowd of police. “We’ll figure that out later, yeah? C’mon. I’ll get you patched up nice and pretty again.”

“What about—”

“Coulson’s coming, didn’t you hear? We gotta scram.” 

He hadn’t. Peter had been too focused on the strange merge of persons. He felt sick to his stomach and looked back, but they were obscured from view. Then Wade took his arm and led him away.

They made it to Wade’s place quickly, it wasn’t too far from the taco shop—no surprises there. Dumping him on the couch, Wade started rifling through cabinets in the kitchen.

“I swear I still got a first aid kit around here,” he mumbled.

“Under the sink?” 

Shuffling, then, “Aha! Baby boy, you are a genius.”

Peter managed a quiet laugh. “I try.”

When Wade plopped down behind him, using hands on Peter’s hips to turn him slightly, he tensed. Oh, he really hadn’t thought this through.

“Wade, maybe I should just go—”

“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna have to worry about you bleeding out trying to get back to the tower.” Wade hummed as he dug through the kit. “Chill out, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“I—I know,” Peter said hesitantly. “Just don’t—”

“Here we go!” Fingers, bare, pulled away the torn fabric of his suit, just around the cut.

“Wait!” Peter tried to turn but he stilled completely when he felt the pinch of a needle on his skin.

“Hey, calm down. It’s fine, Petey-pie.” Wade’s voice was soothing, how one might talk to a baby cradled in their arms. “Just putting in a few stitches where it’s deeper.”

It worked well enough and slowly Peter relaxed. “Wouldn’t think you’d be good at this, considering.”

Wade chuckled lowly. “Hey I used to be human, too, remember? And in the army.”

“Oh, right.” Peter hadn’t exactly forgotten those facts, it was just that he didn’t think about them often. The Wade he knew had always had a healing factor. Sometimes he liked to pretend that some things didn’t happen to Wade, it made it a little easier to love him for who he was now. Not who he was then. Besides, Wade didn’t really like to talk about it.

Peter didn’t really want to think about it either. He instead focused on the steady breathing of the man behind him and the steady hands putting him back together. Like this, he could focus on the present. Like this, it was easy to—

Hold up. Peter mentally shook himself and rewound his thoughts a little. “Love him”? Why had he thought it like that? He could have just as easily said “care about” or “appreciate” or literally anything else. Yet, in his own thoughts, he had just said something about Wade and  _love—_

“You’re all done.”

Peter jerked himself back into reality. “Thanks,” he managed to say without sounding like and idiot who had just been agonizing internally about the concept of loving another man despite that man being strong and charming and helpful and always taking care of him.

When he winced, he blamed it on the fingers prodding his tender flesh.

“Yeesh. We better get you cleaned up, there’s crunk all in your junk.” Wade was tugging at the edges of the suit and Peter could feel the way it was sticking to his skin with drying blood.

He had just enough sense to say, “No thanks,” at the same time Wade muttered, “What’s this?”

Oh this motherflippin’—

Peter jerked away almost violently, turning so that Wade could no longer see his back. “Ah, no, thanks. I think I’ll just head home now.”

“Petey, are those scars on your back?” Wade cocked his head, looking genuinely curious. 

Peter almost felt bad as he shook his head vehemently. “Nope, I don’t want to talk about it. Thanks for everything, see you later!”

He said the last few words as he was opening a window and dashing out before Wade could say a single word. Catching himself on the wall, Peter held his breath until he had swung to the next building over and crawling out of sight.

There, perched on brick with only his fingertips, Peter let out a deep sigh. His shoulders dropped and he hung his head. He was both ashamed and afraid, a strange cocktail that made his brain itch.

He was going to have to deal with this and he knew it. Peter just hoped that day wouldn’t come for a long time, not until he was ready.

Unfortunately, Wade Wilson was not a man of patience. 

  


. . .

  


_Two years earlier_

  


They first met at a hero conference. Tony was absolutely ridiculous in thinking it was a good idea to gather all the heroes around New York in one place for a whole night. Obviously there would be some risks.

Still, Peter was  _not allowed_ , Tony had told him. Guiltily, Peter knew Tony wouldn’t punish him or anything if he found Peter sneaking around the party, but Peter still figured his best bet was to mingle quietly and hang out in dark corners.

That was before the party was crashed by a certain merc with a mouth. Literally.

He came through a high window, what was supposed to be bulletproof glass raining around him as he screamed, “Wa-hoo!”

While there was no record scratch or sudden musical silence, the room collectively turned to stare. He stood, clad in brilliant red, with a blatant grin on his face. He curtsied and said, “Guess the party don’t  _stop_ til I walk in!”

A thunderous voice in the crowd angrily shouted, “Deadpool!” 

Suddenly everyone was moving. Heroes were gearing up, drinks were being set down. The room was alive with chatter and heroism, all focused on one man, who was now holding his hands above his head in surrender thought he was laughing maniacally. 

Peter retreated to the ceiling, interested in the turn of events. He knew Tony would ground him for life if he entered the fray. So, like a true spider, he hid above them all.

All except one, apparently.

A grappling hook was thrown to the ceiling, hooking on a chandelier. Deadpool swung himself up and around. Back and forth he went over the crowd, giving him but a few moments close to Peter.

“Hey little Spidey,” he said first. On his next swing over he added, “Why don’t you join the party?”

While he would never admit he was greatly amused by the spectacle, Peter only deigned to answer on the next go round, “I’m all right, thanks.”

Deadpool was pouting. “A cute thing like you should be—”

He was cut off as his rope was cut through, one of Clint’s arrows landing inches from Peter’s foot. He hoped the archer could feel the glare he sent across the room. Peering down, he caught sight of the red suit again.

Deadpool was dipping, ducking, diving, and dodging his way to the balcony doors. Once there, he saluted, blew a kiss toward the ceiling—Peter—and yelled, “Au revoir!”

With that, he literally jumped off the balcony and into the night, leaving a bunch of grumpy, cursing heroes stomping around.

Peter was so dazed with the whole thing that he almost missed his name being called. He probably would have missed it if it hadn’t been right below him and in the voice of a very angry legal guardian.

Dropping to the ground with a forced smile on his face, Peter attempted to play it off. “Hey, Tony. What’s up? Great party.” He pretended to yawn, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, I’m bushed. Gotta get some sleep, you know how it is. School in the morning—”

Tony had his hands on his hips and was glaring, one eye actually twitching. “Peter Benjamin Parker—”

“Ouch, kid. When dad uses the full name you’re totally in for it.” Clint appeared at Tony’s side, resting his arm on one of Tony’s shoulders and clutching his bow in his other hand.

Tony’s glare turned to him as he shrugged off the arm.

Hands up in front of him, Clint took a step back. “It’s cool, it’s cool. You go ahead with your parenting. Ground him for a few weeks or make him do community service. I’m just looking out for you Tony, as a fellow father.” There was a cheeky grin on his face but before Tony could spit something back at him, Clint was gone.

With him, the fight in Tony’s body. He let out a breath and dropped his shoulders. “Peter, I told you not to come.”

“But Dad, all the cool kids were having fun!”

Peter laughed at the admittedly good impression by none other than Johnny Storm. He popped up behind Peter, slinging arms around his shoulders, chin resting atop Peter’s head.

“Johnny,” a female voice admonished as his sister joined the powwow. 

“That’s it for me, Pete.” Johnny clicked his tongue and let Sue lead him back to the crowd.

Tony huffed in annoyance. “Like I was saying, I told you not to come. You could have been hurt when that crazy asshole busted in.”

A hand dropped on Tony’s shoulder and Peter saw Steve first, then Bucky slinking like shadows behind him. He smiled sweetly at Peter. “Let the kid have his fun,” Steve said gently. “Don’t you remember being his age?”

“Well, he can’t just—” Tony spluttered.

Bucky stepped forward and gathered Peter under his metal arm. Dragging him away, Bucky said, “He’s fine.”

Peter went willingly, though he glanced back at Tony to see him giving Steve a dirty look. With a sigh, Peter knocked the back of his hand against Bucky’s chest.

“Thanks for saving me,” he said, softly but sincerely.

The crooked smile he got in return was infectious. “No problem, punk.”

Peter’s brows drew together. “Hey, isn’t that what you call Steve sometimes?” 

His only answer was a deep laugh.

  


. . . 

  


_Ten months earlier_

  


When they found him, the damage had already been done. 

Peter knew from the sounds of a struggle and the voices calling his name that there were three. Good, that was enough. 

He could not open his eyes. He was sat in a metal chair, bound by hands and feet, the back pressing uncomfortably into his stomach and ribs. It was the least of his hurt. No, that trophy belonged to the searing, throbbing sensation of his shoulders and back, even his hips.

Something touched his back and he screamed. He could hear himself, the sound like nothing human. God, he was no longer even human.

Fingers were running over his head, through his hair. They cupped his cheeks, tilting his face up. They brushed against his eyes so gently until he could open them, no longer crusted shut with dried tears.

He knew it was Natasha before him by her fair features and red hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but he could hardly catch a breath. Natasha stroked his face and leaned in.

“I’m going to make you sleep now,” she said and somehow the words came through the fog in Peter’s head. “When you wake up, this will all be over.”

Peter wanted to cry again, from both the pain and her words of relief. Then he could feel nothing and he must have closed his eyes again because everything was dark. Only Natasha’s soft whispers in his ear accompanied him to sleep.

  


. . .

  


_Four months earlier_

  


It was a dark day and it had nothing to do with the grey clouds covering the sky. Peter stood on uneven dirt, freshly moved. He had thought it might rain but he didn’t bring an umbrella.

It wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t rain.

The marble was fresh. The flowers were fresh. The grass was fresh. The terrible visions that slipped across the backs of Peter’s eyelids were fresh, too.

He was glad Tony knew to leave him alone for a while. The thought of returning to the tower and to civilization was daunting at the moment. Just then, Peter could not help but wish to be buried in the ground there between them, his name added to the list of Parker’s in this morning’s obituaries. 

Though he wanted to fall to his knees, to cry into the earth, he held back. It was like he could feel Uncle Ben’s hand on his shoulder and Aunt May’s voice telling him, “Be strong, my brave little boy.” 

“I’m so lucky,” Peter whispered, though his throat was tight, “to have been your son.”

He wanted to believe that they had heard him.

Turning away, he met Tony and Happy back at the car and silently got in. No one said a word until they arrived at the tower. Peter could not even muster up excitement for moving in, even knowing he would live among the Avengers and all of Tony’s scientific prowess.

Happy stopped him when he got out of the car. He laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “If you need anything . . .” He had a sad smile and Peter nodded though he wouldn’t ever call.

The team would offer condolences. Peter would thank them and nod. Tony would tell him to take a break. Peter would sneak out anyway, despite being aware that Jarvis was constantly monitoring him.

Ned would try to visit him. Peter would always send him away. He’d send away MJ, too. He’d send away anyone who came to his door. 

He would barely eat. He would barely sleep. Sometimes, he would barely move for hours at a time. He would barely talk to anyone but Jarvis, and even then the AI was never a real conversationalist. 

Things didn’t change for weeks.

It was Bucky who ended it all. It was his turn to bring Peter a plate of food and try to get the kid to talk. Rather than hand it over or offer trade, Bucky simply sat on the floor in the doorway when Peter opened the door. There were two plates of food, one which Bucky set on his lap, the other which he handed to Peter.

He did not say a single word, but Peter sat as well and accepted the plate. 

Bucky started eating, normal as can be, and Peter slowly followed. It surprised him that when Bucky was finished, he was as well, his plate cleared for the first time in weeks.

Taking the plate, and his own, Bucky stood. He smiled.

Peter stared as he started walking away, then called out, “Wait.” His voice was hoarse from disuse.

Silent, Bucky turned in place and looked back expectantly.

“Uh.” Peter struggled for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow is Saturday, I think.” Unsure, Peter frowned, but Bucky nodded. “Are you making breakfast in the morning?”

“Yeah.” When he smiled, it was easy to see why Steve had fallen in love with him. “Would you like something special?”

Fidgeting, Peter pursed his lips. “Will you make pancakes?” he asked hesitantly.

To his instant relief, Bucky said, “Sure. That sounds good.”

“Okay, cool.” Peter twitched his toes restlessly. “Uh, goodnight?”

“Goodnight, Peter.” Bucky gave him one last, soft and pleased smile before he continued down the hallway.

  


The sun had woken Peter from a deep sleep. 

He was nervously sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, nursing a glass of orange juice and mindlessly watching vines on his phone when Bucky walked in.

“Mornin’.”

Peter just twisted his face into some amalgamation of a pleasant expression. 

Steve arrived a few minutes later. Peter saw him pause momentarily, but he recovered fast and said, “Good morning, Peter.” 

Behind their backs, Peter made a face as Steve laid a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. He pretended to be completely enraptured by memes when Steve turned back toward him.

If Peter was expecting a big deal to be made out of his appearance, he was sorely mistaken. Steve began to read the newspaper at the table. When Clint wandered out, he was wearing one of Nat’s shirts and moved immediately to the coffee pot where a fresh brew awaited him. He poured an extra mug and sat it beside him for Natasha when she joined them moments later. 

The elevator pinged and allowed Tony in, a smear of black on his temple and sleepy eyes like he had stayed up too late again. When he passed by Peter, he simply rested a hand on his back briefly, then continued to the coffee.

Bucky was flipping pancakes expertly. Clint and Natasha were whispering conspiratorially. Bruce had joined at some point unbeknownst to Peter and was reading the lingering pages of the newspaper as Steve finished each section. Every now and then Tony would ask for an answer to the crossword.

Peter had not even noticed that soft jazz was playing in the background until Bucky started tapping his foot in rhythm and bobbing his head just barely. He also didn’t notice that he was staring, a smile plastered on his lips, until Bucky turned to hand him a loaded plate and had the audacity to wink.

Resolutely ignoring the gesture, Peter ate his pancakes slowly. He watched with morbid curiosity as maple syrup was passed around and could hardly keep from grinning when he saw Steve pour only what was necessary while Bucky slathered his own in a small pond.

After a while, like Nat and Clint, Peter moved to the large table with his plate and juice. A seat was conveniently open between Bucky and Tony. He slid into it without finesse and the group’s conversation didn’t change in the slightest.

Peter rested his chin in his hand, his elbows on the table and closed his eyes. He knew he was smiling, but that was okay. Right then, he felt happy, and that was enough.


	2. Is this flirting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, I only have a few more scenes in the past planned before we catch up to the future in the last chapter. 
> 
> Thank you everybody for reading!

_Present._

 

Natasha would not stop glaring daggers from across the kitchen table. Peter’s face was empty, his eyes on his plate and shoulders low. He noticed Clint nudging his partner but Nat would not let Peter have even a moment of respite from her sharp gaze. Eventually, Peter just left the table, mumbling to everyone as he went. A chorus of “sleep well” and “goodnight, Peter,” followed him into the hall.

Natasha’s eyes thankfully did not.

Peter sighed, back in his room. He pulled out his phone then the extra one Wade had given him for “secret communications”. Wade had also set his ringtone before giving him the phone as a recording of himself saying, “Oh, baby,” in a falsetto.

Opening a new text, Peter typed quickly: _Clint saw us today._

Daddypool;) : _uh-oh_

Peter: _He told Nat. She’s pissed at me._

Daddypool;) : _wht abt dad?_

Peter: _He’s fine I guess. Not happy tho._

Daddypool;) : _srry bby boy. want me 2 kowtow in frnt of them?_

Peter: _LOL. No thx._

Daddypool;) : _seppuku?_

Peter: _Ugh no. I’m just frustrated._

Daddypool;) : _aw bby. want me 2 come over?_

Peter sighed and glanced to his closet where his suit was hanging. Tony and Nat wouldn’t be happy, but he started changing anyway.

Peter: _I’m coming to you._

He left through his window, as was usual, out into the night. It had been barely two hours since he’d seen Wade and here he was, already going back for more.

Pausing, blushing, Peter remembered what Tony had said. It wasn’t as if Peter _didn’t_ want to be . . . intimate with Wade. Rather, Peter very much wanted that. His friendship with Wade had blossomed greatly in the last couple of years. They were comfortable together. Peter could be himself and he tried to make sure Wade had that experience as well.

At first, Wade had been insecure—understandably—but over time he’d relaxed and more often dropped the facade that he always wore. He laughed more naturally, felt more deeply, spoke more freely.

Peter was happy. Wade could make him happy. He’d only ever felt cherished in their friendship and he of course wanted to give that same feeling back. If Wade would have him, Peter would be more than happy to give it all.

To give . . . himself? It wasn’t an odd day, if Peter were honest, that he thought about Wade in ways that were more than friendly. Some thoughts as tame as sharing sweet little kisses and some significantly dirtier and messier.

Peter shook himself, feeling warm inside his suit.

It would probably not be great for him to show up at Wade’s sporting a chubby. As many comments as Wade made about Peter’s ass, it was still uncertain if Wade actually had romantic feelings for him.

That was a conversation for later, Peter determined. After all, he had about zero experience with love and relationships. He was desperately self-conscious about his back, and the rest of his body, but Wade made him feel beautiful. Made him feel strong, too.

Peter landed near Wade’s door, knowing his face was bright red under his mask. With a few deep breaths of cool night air, he calmed himself and knocked on the door.

Before he knew it—his spidey-sense not having gone off—Peter was gathered into a tight hug, holding him to a large, warm body. Wade even went so far as to lift Peter from his feet and shake him back and forth.

“Baby boy!” Wade exclaimed, humming happily. He set Peter down only to grab his arm and drag him inside.

“Wade—” Peter tried, letting himself be pulled along. He was unceremoniously thrown to the couch where Wade, clad only in boxers and a wrinkled shirt, flopped on top of him, covering him with his whole body.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” Wade was saying into Peter’s neck. “I’ll protect you from your mean old man and that cheap knock-off spider lady. They can’t have you!”

“Uhh . . .” Peter, completely squished, managed to pull his arms free and pat Wade on the back. “Thanks, Pool.”

Wade shoved his hands under Peter’s shoulders and lifted himself up, his mouth stuck in a grin. With one hand, he pulled Peter’s mask up and off. Peter saw his bright eyes soften with _something_. Peter held the brief anticipation that Wade was about to kiss him—

But then Wade laid himself back down, his nose pressed under Peter’s now bared jaw.

“Um, Wade?” Peter attempted to relax to make it easier to breathe under this heavy weight. “You’re being really, uh, snuggly.” When he felt Wade start to shift, he quickly pressed on his back with his hands and said, “N-Not that I don’t like it! ‘Cause I do. Like you. _It_. I mean . . .” He wanted to smack himself in the face but Wade was giggling.

Sliding his hands up to the back of Peter’s head, Wade said, “Snuggles make you feel better.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he was speaking to a general “you” or to Peter himself. He supposed it didn’t matter.

Finally, he started to really relax, taking in his surroundings and letting out a deep sigh of relief. Wade was right; Peter loved his tactile affection more than he would probably ever admit. Wade just had a way of dealing with him which always worked. He chalked it up to the undivided attention he received from the man. Maybe Wade was able to suss out the things Peter responded most positively to.

Whatever the case, Peter was finally at peace. His head tilted back against the couch, Wade’s hands a secure pillow. He lazily spread his fingers and trailed them along Wade’s muscled back, as far as he could reach with his partially restrained arms.

Above him, Wade gave a happy little hum and sigh, his lips dragging along Peter’s neck. “Hey, Petey? You don’t think Iron Daddy is gonna come and drag you back, right?”

Peter chuckled, the sound deep in his chest. “No. I don’t think he will. Why? Scared?”

With a _harrumph_ , Wade mumbled, “No way, babycakes. But I betcha wouldn’t want him to see you in this position.”

“I guess not.” Peter was blushing and he could feel it. He was suddenly more aware of all the points of contact he had with Wade. From the fingers buried in his hair to the mouth brushing against his skin, Wade’s chest was pressed to his to the hips and their legs tangled. It was quite an intimate position.

Peter settled his hands on Wade’s upper back, content despite the implications Wade had just brought up. And what a weird thing to say, anyway.

Wade was shifting slightly, moving his torso to only be crushing half of Peter’s body. He repositioned his hands, one arm now around Peter’s waist and the other only making it so Peter’s head was now resting on a thick forearm. His head was now tucked into Peter’s shoulder.

“You’re so soft,” Wade said quietly.

This was getting weirder, Peter thought to himself.

“Sure, Wade.”

The arm around his waist had left a hand on Peter’s side which Wade was now using to rub gently along his ribs. Peter supposed it was meant to be soothing—and it was—but it also felt a little like foreplay. Perhaps Peter was just seeing things wrong based on his earlier thoughts about Wade and the fact that he had almost no idea how to come on to somebody with any sort of sexual advances.

“Erm, Wade?” he hesitantly said.

The other man snuffled, rubbing his nose and cheek into Peter’s collar. “Hmm?”

This was suddenly like affectionate drunk territory, Peter thought, though he knew Wade couldn’t actually get drunk because of his metabolism. “Never mind,” he said quickly.

“Whassup?” Wade slurred. Definitely weird drunk territory. What the hell had he been doing before Peter arrived?

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me,” Wade insisted, squeezing his hand on Peter’s waist, but not painfully so.

Peter tried not to breathe in too sharply at that. “Really, don’t worry.”

“Peeete . . .”

“What’s up with you anyway?” Peter finally asked. “You’re being especially handsy.”

“Uh oh, boys. He caught us.”

Was Peter always going to blush like this around Wade? “It’s not a problem,” he assured quickly, “you’re just not usually this—um—sweet.”

Wade cooed. “Aw, baby boy thinks I’m sweet. Heart eyes motherfucker.” Peter raised a brow at the reference, but let Wade continue, “You had a rough day. Psychologists say that physical affection is healing!”

Well that was certainly an answer, Peter supposed.

“Besides, you know you love me.”

Peter was the first to stiffen at that blatant statement, Wade freezing only a second later.

“I mean, heh, you love cuddles and stuff and—”

Saving Wade the trouble of coming up with a better excuse, Peter hesitantly put his hand on Wade’s forearm where it was laid over his middle. Softly, he said, “I do, yeah.”

 

. . .

 

_Three months earlier_

 

“Stop it,” Peter admonished, only halfheartedly swatting Wade’s hands away.

“Nooo,” Wade drawled.

Peter scooted to the other side of the couch, trying to pay attention to the film on Wade’s cracked TV screen. There were DVDs strewn across the floor in front of them and three empty pizza boxes. He watched from the corner of his eye as Wade’s greasy hands started reaching towards him again. He quickly smacked the waggling fingers.

He was grinning as Wade whined, pulling his hands back in, and softly began to sing, “Baby come back, you can blame it all on me—”

“Knock it off,” Peter said, laughing so hard his body shook.

Like the asshole he was, Wade immediately launched himself across the couch and wrapped his arms around Peter’s middle, effectively headbutting his stomach. Peter wheezed.

Wade giggled loudly. “You cannot escape DP cuddle time!” he declared.

“Ugh—” Peter tried pushing at Wade’s shoulders, but the merc would not budge.

“You’re mine forever now, Petey-pie.”

A little shiver went through Peter’s body—unsurprisingly going toward his nether regions. “Sure, sure,” he mumbled, finally getting the breath back to laugh again. After a moment, he relented, patting Wade’s arms and relaxing in his hold.

Truly, he didn’t particularly try to get away.

Peter still softly protested, saying, “You can’t even see the TV from there.”

“I got a better view here.” Wade hummed and pressed his face to Peter’s belly. He was just above Peter’s junk, but his head was cushioned on a thigh, thankfully. Wade released his tight hold, apparently satisfied that Peter would not push him away.

Peter just tried to keep calm, to breathe evenly and stay still. It was shockingly easy. The steady in and out of Wade’s breathing was relaxing, even enough so for Peter to lift one hand and rest it along the back of Wade’s head. He slowly brushed his thumb along the rough and welted skin there in a soothing back and forth motion.

He could feel when Wade took a deep breath and sighed it out.

“You know,” Peter spoke lowly, “it’s nice to just sit around like this sometimes.”

“What, you don’t like my jumpy, jubilant self?”

Peter chuckled. “I was thinking more about your reoccurring nihilism.”

“Oh.” There was a pause before Wade huffed in an amused way. “I kinda like just havin’ bro time where I don’t always have to watch your ass while you get into trouble.”

Though he was blushing, Peter boldly said, “You like watching my ass.”

Wade seemed to freeze for a few seconds before he burst into laughter. His voice was muffled by Peter’s hip, his shirt and jeans, but he could feel it to his bones.

It was infectious. Peter soon found himself hunched over the side of the couch, partially obscuring Wade’s body. He had no idea how long they laughed, but it felt good. Really good. He probably hadn’t had a laugh that hard in—hell—maybe forever.

Eventually Wade said, “Jeez, Petey, you are—” he paused, took a shaky breath, and finished in a weird tone, “—you are something else.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, his peals of laughter softening considerably. “You are, too.”

“Nah . . .” Wade’s body was calming and Peter could feel the warm breath he let out as a sigh into his shirt.

He suppressed a shiver. “I mean it, Pool.” He purposefully deflected the connotation by not using Wade’s name.

“Yeah, okay,” Wade finally muttered, but he sounded at least a little happy about it.

Peter counted that as a win.

 

. . .

 

_Five months earlier_

 

Peter woke up late. He blearily blinked his eyes open, saw sunlight in his window, and promptly buried his face in his pillow, groaning.

“What time is it?” he grumbled.

“Ten thirty-eight a.m. Good morning, Mr. Parker,” Jarvis’ voice replied.

“Shit,” Peter swore, uncharacteristically.

Knowing he needed to get up, he pushed himself to throw his legs over the side of the bed. As soon as he was upright, he fell over to his other side, arms splayed.

“Hey, Jarv—remind me to never drink again,” Peter said into his covers.

“Yes, sir.”

If any AI could have humor in its voice, it _would_ be Jarvis. When Peter could open his eyes, he planned on glaring at the ceiling. Not that it would matter more than for his own spitefulness. Damned AI.

Of course, this whole predicament was Peter’s fault. No, wait, it was Thor’s. For his eighteenth birthday, the team had been on a long mission and didn’t have time to celebrate. But this year, Thor had forcefully cleared everyone’s calendar, brought a few kegs of Asgardian ale, and declared it was time to give Peter a proper sendoff into adulthood.

If only Peter could have said no, but Thor’s puppy eyes and Clint’s teasing had gotten him mug after mug of the strong stuff. Now he was paying for it.

The sound of Jarvis’ voice saying, “You have a visitor downstairs,” had Peter bolting upright—which he immediately regretted.

He knew it could only be one person since Ned and MJ had been at the party last night. There was one person that Peter wanted to invite but whom Tony would have given a hard negative to.

“Wade!” Peter said loudly as he stumbled from the elevator several minutes later, haphazardly dressed in shorts and a tee, no sign of shoes on his feet.

The grin was obvious on Wade’s face as he bounded over to grab Peter up in his arms. “Happy day, birthday boy!” He was dressed casually, a disguise in place to mask his features from prying eyes though Peter recognized him immediately. He’d been sure to supervise the costume planning, though it hadn’t been for this purpose. That was a surprise.

Peter laughed and pulled back. He was probably acting a bit too happy, but it was his birthday and he was allowed to be celebratory. “Okay, now what is this super secret gift you’ve been teasing me about?”

Wade scooted over to the security desk and gave a wink to the receptionist as he picked up a nondescript white box. When he held it out to Peter he added a little, “Ta-da!”

Looking back at forth from the box to Wade’s face, Peter raised his brows. “Is that a bomb?”

“No, it’s a cake.”

The voice Wade used to say those words was suspicious to say the least. Still, Peter took the box from him and opened it slowly, peering inside with caution.

“What is that?” Peter asked, now looking into the box with a tilted head. Inside was fabric of some sort.

Wade laughed. “I lied. It’s not a cake.”

Peter picked up the fabric slowly and it unfolded into an all red shirt. On the front was printed a mashup of their hero masks, one side Spider-Man, one side Deadpool. For a moment Peter just gaped.

Then, “I love it!” He glanced up to see Wade smiling happily. “Seriously, this is awesome!”

Clasping his hands, Wade just said, “It was no biggie. I’ve got a matching one, too.”

Peter shoved the shirt back in its box. “Thank you,” he said more soberly. Holding the box under one arm, he leaned in and wrapped his other around Wade’s waist, hugging him tightly. He felt Wade’s hands squeeze him before he pulled back, smiling.

“Now,” Wade said softly, conspiratorially, “just make sure no one knows who it’s really from. Otherwise DP is gonna get in big trouble with S-T-A-R-K—”

Peter smacked him in the arm playfully. “I get it.”

Pretending to be hurt, Wade scoffed at him and rubbed his arm. “Spidey! Be nice!” he muttered.

Peter just gave a half-cocked grin. He was going in for another friendly hit when Wade blocked, grabbing his arms and pushing him back. They stepped into the little alcove which hid the lift, suddenly out of view of reception. Peter couldn’t help the little gasp he sucked in. He tried playing it off by sighing moodily and glaring.

It was hard to keep up, though, when Wade just pouted. He leaned an arm to the corner of the walls, his free hand on his hip. “What’s the matter, baby? Can’t take the heat?”

Spluttering with laughter, Peter shoved at his chest then reached behind him to push the call button. The lift dinged almost immediately.

“Sorry, pal, but I’d rather not get caught up when I’m so hungover.” Peter was smiling even as he moved past the sliding doors, leaning his shoulder to one side so they wouldn’t close yet. “But thanks for stopping by,” he added, much softer, blinking up at Wade, who suddenly straightened and cleared his throat.

“Of course, Petey-pie. Call me, yeah?” he requested, already turning to leave.

“Yeah,” Peter said quietly. He stepped back and let the doors close him off from the sight of Wade’s retreating back. “Yeah.”

 

. . .

 

_Ten months earlier_

 

“Uhh . . . Hmm . . .”

Above him, Peter could hear muttering and knew at once that it was Wade. He also realized he was on the ground and his brain was absolutely pounding behind his swollen eyes.

He wanted to open his mouth to speak, but that was way too hard at the moment. Instead, he tried wiggling his fingers, his toes, anything really, as long as he was starting to get feeling back into his body parts. It was coming slowly, as was his understanding of the sounds Wade was making.

“Oh, gee, oh no. Why, god? Why?”

Peter attempted to blink, but all he saw was misshapen darkness. “Ugh—” he croaked. “Wha—?”

“Oh, fuck, you’re alive! Thank Christ’s beautiful titties.”

Choking on a laugh, Peter put all his strength in lifting a hand at his elbow. Wade immediately took it between his own.

“H—how bad is it?” he asked.

“It’s bad,” Wade groaned. “I’ve got it real bad.”

That stopped Peter’s growing panic for a moment. “What?”

Wade sounded like he was crying as he said, “I’m so glad you’re alive, baby boy! You’re way too gorgeous to leave this world yet.”

“Huh?”

Fingers—Peter assumed—were stroking his cheek. “Oh, sweet boy, you have no idea.”

“W-what?” Peter started struggling to sit up. He lifted a hand to his face and quickly realized his mask was off. “Wade?” he uttered, panic again seeping into his voice.

“Woah, hey,” Wade said soothingly. His one hand was still clutching Peter’s much smaller one, the other now on his shoulder and helping his to sit. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. You’re already healing. You’ll be back to your sexy little self soon enough.”

Peter finally managed to open his eyes and focus on the mask in front of him, hovering close. “The heck are you talking about?” he asked, squinting. When Wade only stared at him, he added, “Is something wrong with my face?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Wade looked suddenly horrified. “You’re like an angel.”

Too out of his mind still to really understand what Wade was saying, Peter just rubbed the back of his head and groaned softly. “Yeah, sure, DP. Can I go home now? I feel like I was trampled on.”

“Heh, you kinda were.”

Wade stood, pulling Peter to his feet with him. Without instructions, Wade got Peter on his back, clutching the thighs which diligently wrapped around his hips. Peter’s arms were loosely clasped over Wade’s shoulders, head pressed to the back of his neck. He trusted Wade would not let him fall, and would get him safely to the tower.

When they arrived, Wade set Peter down and pushed something onto his head which eventually became the Spider-Man mask. Peter could barely stand. Wade’s grip on him was tight, though, enough to lead him closer where they were met by an iron suit which landed nearby, pointing a charged phaser at Wade’s head.

Jarvis’ voice said clearly, “Please unhand Spider-Man and step away.”

“Jarv, it’s okay,” Peter mumbled. He took a step forward, almost falling, but was caught by both Wade’s strong hands and the iron suit’s effortless stablism.

“Nuh-uh, Spidey-boy. You need a hand,” Wade said, almost tugging on Peter’s arm.

“We will take him from here. You are no longer needed, Deadpool.” Jarvis was unyielding in his words, and his hold of the boy between them.

“Yeesh, alright.” Wade relented, letting go of Peter and allowing the hollow metal body to take his weight. “Guess I gotta go, kid.”

Peter hummed, on the verge of passing out. “Okay, bye.”

He thought Wade might have said something more, but Jarvis abruptly picked him up and flew him inside from the landing pad upstairs. Just inside, waiting, were Bruce and Tony.

Passed into their care, Bruce was cooing softly over him, removing his torn clothing to reveal the injuries below. Tony, however, was muttering profanities, alternating between cursing the evil in the world and cursing Peter for getting hurt.

Peter was hardly listening anyway, but he opened his mouth enough to say, “Dad, I’m okay,” before promptly falling unconscious.

 

He woke later in his bed to a text on his Deadpool phone.

Daddypool;) : _srry bout last nite. hope ur ok_

Then, a moment later,

Daddypool;) : _ur really hot tho. jailbait!!_


	3. Is this bonding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beware of my quite liberal use of —'s in this chapter

_Present_

 

Peter must have fallen asleep at some point during snuggling because he woke and found himself alone, sunlight streaming in from between wood planks nailed over windows.

It was not unfamiliar. Peter had spent plenty enough time at Wade’s place to recognize it from light patterns and smell alone. But he couldn’t hear the usual fumbling of Wade anywhere nearby. Now that was a little disconcerting.

But as Peter sat up, he noticed a folded piece of paper fall from somewhere on his person to the floor. He picked it up, yawning, to read:

_“Had a meeting to attend. Pancakes are in the oven. Don’t worry, this time I remembered to turn the oven off. Be back later if you wanna stick around. You already know where everything is. Hugs n kisses, DP”_

Peter had a smile on his lips as he finished reading it. While he would have wanted to stay, he knew he needed go back to the tower, if only so Tony wouldn’t worry where he went off to.

He made sure to grab a few pancakes before he left. It was widely known that Wade’s were the best. These didn’t disappoint.

At home, Peter was greeted only by Jarvis’ curt, “Good morning, Mr. Parker.” The place was empty upstairs and Peter poked around everyone’s rooms only to come up empty handed. No Avengers were in sight.

Finally he asked aloud, “Where is everybody?”

Jarvis answered immediately, “The team has called a meeting elsewhere.”

“Huh.” That was weird, Peter thought.

He knew they almost always had important meetings at the home base, even with SHIELD. Anyway, a meeting? And everyone was there but Peter? Come to think of it, even Wade had mentioned a meeting in his note.

Peter rubbed his hands over his face with a long sigh. Of course Tony might have been ambivalent about it last night but Peter wasn’t so naive as to thing that was going to be the end of it. Still, rather than mess with the whole thing and probably cause a fiasco, Peter decided to simply shower and put on regular clothes, wanting to take advantage of the empty house—so to speak-- and get some work done in the labs.

Heading down to the lab set aside especially for him (though Tony and Bruce would come and go as they pleased) he took some relaxing breaths. He was trying to fixate his thoughts on science instead of the emotional turmoil he was experiencing. That particular mess could not be solved with the scientific method or data analysis.

Well, actually, it probably could be, but Peter dismissed that idea quickly.

He did manage, however, to spend the next hour running trials for a project he and Tony were working on for upgrades to the spider suit. Eventually, he was pulled out of his foray into the dark side of science by his phone going off. His Deadpool phone.

It was a call and Peter connected them with a genial, “Hey, Pool.”

“Hey, uh, Peter?”

Oh no, that was Clint’s voice. What the hell had they done to Wade to get his phone.

“Barton? Why are you calling me from this phone?”

Clint laughed a little nervously. “I actually wanted to see if this number was to you. It’s only labeled as ‘Baby Bottle Pop’ with a bunch of heart emojis and winky faces.”

He paused while Peter sighed, lying his head on the table in front of him with a _thunk_ and a groan.

“Anyway, kid, I think we scared him enough to stay away from you—”

“What?” Peter nearly yelled into the mic.

“Oh—” Clint sounded hesitant, “—Tony was saying that he was blackmailing you into, you know, doing dirty favors for him.”

“What?!” Peter screeched.

Clint suddenly laughed. “Peter, I’m fucking with you.”

“Barton, you piece of shit.”

“Ha! I really got you,” Clint said obnoxiously.

Peter sighed. “Whatever. What _did_ you do to him, though?”

After a few more wheezes, Clint was finished and told him, albeit with amusement still great in his voice, “Nothing, don’t worry. I stole this while Tony was being distracting.”

“So you didn’t hurt him or anything?” Peter was relieved a moment before Clint started laughing again.

“I didn’t say that. But he heals, it’s fine!”

Peter huffed angrily. “It’s not fine. You’re not allowed to just beat people up even if they’ll heal!”

“Chill, Pete,” Clint quickly said. “Wade’s just fine, okay?”

“Y’know, for some reason I don’t believe you. Like, at all.”

Sounding defeated, Clint said, “He’s fine. We just wanted to give him a good talking to, especially since he’s messing around with the boss’ son.”

Peter grimaced. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“Yeah, well, too bad.” He could almost see Clint shrugging and rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m just calling to tell you that your parents have done their job interrogating your boyfriend and making sure he’s not going to hurt you.”

“Then why did you call from his phone?”

“Eh, I wanted to read his texts. And I knew you would answer.”

“Clint!” Peter flushed, not that he had sent anything incriminating to Wade to be embarrassed about.

“He must really love you if he’s willing to kowtow.”

Peter turned even more red, grateful that Clint couldn’t see it. “What, the seppuku wasn’t proof enough?” he quipped.

Cline chuckled as he said, “Not at all. Guy would kill himself to get a job done as fast as he would for you.”

That was not a particularly comforting note, but at least Clint was trying, right? With a shake of his head, Peter asked, “Can you let me talk to him?”

“Ooh,” Clint hissed, “see that’s not possible right now. Can I take a message?”

“What do you mean? You just told me he’s fine.”

“Yeah well, you gotta know by now that half the shit outta my mouth is straight up bullshit.” Before Peter could launch a protest, he added, “Seriously, though, I’ll tell him to call you once he’s conscious again.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Peter groaned loudly. “Fine.”

“Hey, I was trying to be nice!”

“Mhmm, bye.”

With that, Peter hung up, not bothering to wait for another excuse like that. Peter was pissed enough as it was.

Honestly, what right did they have in butting into his personal life like this? Peter was an adult. Tony had literally said the night before that he was going to trust Peter more. Guess that was bullshit, just like Clint had been spouting.

Giving up on his experiments, Peter left the lab. He wanted to talk to someone, to express his frustrations. Normally he’d talk to Wade but that obviously was a no go this time around.

Really, he wanted to talk to Aunt May. An ache flared up in his chest, as was the case whenever he thought about May and Ben. It had been a while, he realized, and immediately felt guilty. Then, he chastised himself, knowing that there was no reason he shouldn’t be moving on like he had been over the last few years.

It’s all part of the process, he reminded himself.

Peter went to his room to grab a jacket and slip some shoes on. As he left, he said to Jarvis, “If anyone asks, I’ll be with my—my aunt and uncle.”

“Very well, Mr. Parker.”

He exited the tower quickly.

 

. . .

 

_Two years earlier_

 

“What, you and Tony had a fight?” Steve asked, one brow raised as he looked over his shoulder.

He and Bucky were in the kitchen, working in almost perfect tandem to prepare dinner. Peter considered making a comment about it, but he held back because it was actually quite relaxing to watch them together.

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, sitting at the breakfast bar. “I don’t know what his deal is all of a sudden but he’s trying to run my life.”

“In what way?”

“I have a curfew now! I never had a curfew before.”

Steve’s expression was somewhat bemused. “Didn’t he give you that because you stayed out all night last week without telling any of us where you were?”

Petulantly, Peter crossed his arms. He didn’t want to tell anyone that he’d accidentally fallen asleep at Wade’s house. No, that would absolutely land him in even more trouble. Probably Wade, too.

“It’s not like anything happened!” Peter argued. “I just fell asleep after my patrol.”

Steve turned to him properly. “Peter, you’re seventeen, you should know by now that you cannot act like this. When Bucky and I were your age, we—”

“Yeah and that was like seventy years ago, Cap. That’s nothing like how it is today.”

“It’s simple,” Bucky cut in, his voice emotionless though he did not turn to look. “You’re almost an adult—”

“So I should be able to do what I want when I want.”

“—so you should listen to us when we tell you that Tony doesn’t want to let you go,” Bucky finished succinctly.

That gave Peter pause. “What?” Even Steve was now looking at Bucky with some confusion. Obviously that was not what either of them had expected Bucky to say.

“You’re his kid,” Bucky said, gesturing with the knife in his hand that he was using to chop ingredients. “When a baby bird grows up, they leave the nest.”

“Okay . . ?”

This time, Bucky did turn, and he fixed Peter with an exhausted sort of look. “He just got you. He’s afraid he’d going to lose you just as quick. He wants to keep you close.”

Peter was a little dumbfounded. “Oh.”

Steve was nodding as he said, “Yeah, Buck’s right. It’s great to watch your kids grow up and to feel proud of them. But, when you become your own person, it’s probably difficult to let them go. He never had that with his parents either—” Steve stopped and reached out to place a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry, Buck.”

Shaking himself lightly, Bucky just nodded once and returned to his preparations.

“I think I get it,” Peter said slowly. “I didn’t think about that.”

He had never experienced anything like that, his parents having died when he was a child and his aunt and uncle before he was even beginning to be independent. He had only thought that perhaps Tony was in a prolonged mood.

“Tony himself may not understand this, though. He’s still new to being a parent.” Steve’s voice was low and soothing, but Peter was still feeling guilt and unease.

“I shouldn’t have said those things that I said to him.”

A hand was set on his shoulder as Steve said, “We all say things we don’t mean sometimes. Just man up and apologize. He’ll understand.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed. Steve squeezed him before letting go.

“C’mon, you can talk with him later. Help us get this ready.” Steve smiled charmingly and Peter’s defenses dropped.

With a lopsided look, Peter slid from his seat. “Sure, sure. What can I do?”

 

. . .

 

_Three months earlier_

 

Peter’s hearing was gone. The explosions had been far too close for comfort though the blast didn’t hit him too hard.

Staggering to his feet, he looked around. Everything was spinning—no, swimming. Peter rubbed the back of his head and even through his mask and gloves, he could feel the wetness of blood. He may have groaned but he couldn’t hear himself.

The fire was spreading fast somehow. From car to car where they lay on sides and roofs. Light made the street look like rainbows. Oil or gasoline?

“Psychedelic,” Peter slurred, feeling the word in his mouth. He grinned.

Another explosion rocked the bridge, making Peter stumble. He fell to his hands, which were not strong enough to hold him up. He was just too heavy.

Head thunking the ground, Peter was hit with a wave of nausea. Pain was right behind it, blinding him. His ears popped.

The roar of the fire became loud very quickly and it only added to the pain behind his eyes. Peter managed to roll onto his back, limbs splayed out, but couldn’t move further. He wanted to vomit, might have choked a bit on bile, but he was gasping for air that was not filthy and smoky.

He objectively realized he needed help. There was fire nearby, blood pooling under his head, and pain was threatening to take him under. Stay awake, he thought.

There was one person he knew would save him at all costs and before he was conscious of it, he was chanting “Tony” under his breath. It took more effort than it should have to throw his hand by his ear and poke at the comm attached. When it got too hard to keep up two syllables, his chant changed to “dad”.

He coughed out the word, choked on it, breathed it and lived it. Whatever would keep him awake—some part of him was still lucid enough to know he needed to open his eyes, focus on light rather than darkness.

If he’d had more brainpower at his disposal, he might have made a cheesy joke about his lizard brain and something to do with spiders. As it was, he simply began whispering hoarsely when his throat started to fail.

“Dad,” he groaned.

“Dad,” he cried.

“Dad,” he murmured.

Eventually, he stopped hearing himself again. Maybe he had stopped speaking. He hadn’t opened his eyes in so long he was afraid to try.

Then he was being moved by _something_ ,

But he heard, as if from far away, “I’m here, Peter. I’m here.”

 

. . .

 

_One year earlier_

 

It was a normal evening in New York City. Peter was visiting Queens with Tony for some reason—he hadn’t bothered to ask—and things were just as normal as could be.

No, really, they were fine. No monsters on the loose, no aliens invading, no serial killers or even black-market thugs. Just Peter and Tony—and Happy in the driver’s seat, Pepper in the passenger and on the phone with Natasha, all while Cap piloted above them in the quinjet.

How relaxing.

Until Tony asked, “So, you got a girlfriend yet, kid?”

This prompted Peter to choke, Happy to snort, and Pepper to turn around to give Tony the most scandalizing expression she could.

Tony shrugged. “What? Isn’t that an important thing to know about your teenager’s life.”

“I—um—” Peter laughed nervously. “N-no, I don’t. I’m not really popular with the, uh, with the girls.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Tony told him.

Peter gave a sideways smile.

“Don’t pay attention to him, Peter,” Pepper said from the front. “He’s oblivious.”

“What? No I’m not!”

“Er . . .” Peter hummed, concerned.

Pepper just waved a hand. “Don’t worry, Peter. I won’t tell.”

Tony looked at him with an open mouth then at Pepper. “Tell me what?”

Just as confused, Peter said, “I don’t know?”

“You don’t—Pepper what the hell are you talking about?”

“Ooh!” Pepper glanced back with a wicked grin. “Natasha has just informed me that Peter doesn’t know either.”

“Huh? What don’t I know? Is this still about me?” Peter pressed. He pulled his phone from his pocket, with some finagling, as it buzzed.

It was a text from Nat that read: _You’re bi._

“I’m what?” Peter spluttered.

He felt a buzz and read the next message: _Bisexual_.

“I’m _what_?!” Peter screeched.

Tony was trying to snatch his phone but Peter was smacking his hands away. “C’mon!”

“Pepper, how did you—?”

She just laughed in response.

“Aww,” Peter groaned.

In his lax state of defeat, Tony stole the device with a triumphant, “Aha!”

He read the message and grew silent. Then, Tony thrust the phone back at Peter and said lightly, “I already knew _that_. I thought you were gonna say he’s got a secret lover.”

Peter flushed, clutching his phone. “Well—I—” He stopped, sucking in a breath.

“Oh, honey,” Pepper said. She reached back to touch his knee. “It’s okay. Just think—now your dating pool is a lot bigger.”

That got Peter to laugh, the sound leaving him forcefully.

“Oh, oh, Steve wants to say something.” Pepper held out her phone and put it on speaker.

“Peter?”

“Hi, Steve.”

“Hi, Steve,” Tony childishly copied in a funny voice.

“We still love you, Peter,” Steve went on, ignoring Tony’s antics as usual. “You’re no different.”

“Uh, thanks, Steve.” Peter tried to sound grateful.

“You know, I’m also bisexual—”

“Here we go,” Tony muttered.

Steve just continued, “—and you’re lucky to live in this time here we can be free to love who we want to love and—”

“Okay, enough,” Natasha’s voice butted in. “Now that everyone knows Peter’s sexual preferences, let’s stop talking about it.”

Relief washed over Peter. “Thanks guys,” he said, “really.”

“So . . . do you have a boyfriend yet?” Tony asked.

A chorus of “Tony!” followed his question but he just laughed.

“Uh, I don’t, by the way,” Peter said. “No girlfriend or boyfriend.” He choked a little on the last word.

Sure, it was great that the whole family knew and were readily accepting, but Peter thought he really needed a little time of his own. After all, he hadn’t even known that about himself.

 

. . .

 

_Several weeks earlier_

 

“Hey! You’re the bug-boy from that party I crashed.”

Peter was startled as the voice grew closer and he lost his grip on the wall he was clinging to.

“Ugh,” he groaned, picking himself up from the ground. He crawled back up and was met on the roof by a red suit—filled with a large man and decorated with various guns and knives. He nearly fell back down.

“I’m a spider,” he said instead.

“Oh, shit, my bad. Nice to see you again, spidey-boy.” He stuck out a hand which Peter took to shake, but was instead pulled over the lip of the building to stand beside him.

“Deadpool, right?”

“Aw, he remembers me!” Deadpool gushed, framing his face with his hands.

“Uh, yeah.” Peter tried to inconspicuously take a step back.

Apparently he didn’t quite have the subtlety because Deadpool asked, “You’re not afraid of me, right? I’m harmless, I swear. Don’t mind the guns, baby boy.”

Peter blinked. He seemed genuine enough, though Peter was hesitant. “I don’t know you except that my dad hates you.” Peter froze. “Uhh, I mean—I don’t have a dad? Ha ha, who has dads these days, anyway?”

Somehow, Deadpool’s mask showed him raising his eyebrows. “Wait . . .” he drawled.

“Hmm?” Peter blustered. “I didn’t say anything, nothing at all. I’ve suddenly got to go, bye!” He was literally about to throw out a web when Deadpool shifted.

“You’re Stark’s kid?” He was pointing at Peter with almost comic surprise. He laughed. “Damn, he must’ve taught you some good ‘stranger danger’ shit.”

Peter flushed. Oh, no.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? People aren’t supposed to know anything about me.” Peter was about to start begging, the absolute terror of this man knowing washing over him.

“Oh, whoa, hey.” Deadpool held his hands up in surrender. “Why would I tell anybody? I got nothing against you. You’re just a kid, yeah?” At Peter’s nod he added, “I don’t fuck with kids, man. I got messed up enough in _my_ childhood.”

Peter relaxed a little. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Besides, I like knowing secrets. I’m good at keeping ‘em, too.” Deadpool winked. “Here, I’ll give you my secret.”

“Oh, okay.”

Deadpool then, without preamble, pulled his mask up to his forehead. “Look, I’m ugly.” He was grinning, though.

Peter just stared at him for a moment. “Why is that a secret?” He was just a guy with scars and stuff. How was this equal to Peter’s literal identity.

“Also, my name’s Wade Wilson! I already know your name—sowwy—but now you know mine. And it’s a secret because everybody who sees my face dies.” He said it ominously. As he put his mask back on properly, he casually added. “I kill them.”

Peter frowned to himself. “Um . . .”

“Oh, I won’t kill you.” Deadpool— _Wade_ —laughed. “That’s why it’s a secret now, because only you know.”

He held out his hand again, this time to shake, and Peter took it. “Wade,” Peter said.

“Peter,” Wade agreed.

“Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” When he lifted Peter’s hand to mock kiss the back of it, Peter laughed. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on another note I saw Infinity War opening day (no spoilers) and it took me a while to type this up since I've had it written in my notebook for like two weeks lol. But yeah took me a while because I had to recover from seeing it. I mean I'm totally not over it so I'm attempting to stay away from all things Marvel right now because I'm so disgusted with the studio tbh. But that's just me and my opinion.


	4. Is this obsession?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished this chapter, hopefully it won't take me as long to get the last one finished. It's partially written so...

_A few minutes ago_

 

Wade raised his head groggily, holding it with one hand while he used his other to push himself up from the ground.

“Ow,” he muttered, “that one hurt!”

“You shouldn’t have quoted Disney movies at me then!” came an angry voice from above. A few steady _clanks_ brought the Iron Asshole right to Wade’s side. The face plate of the suit flipped up again to reveal Tony’s blank, unamused face.

Wade grinned and rolled to his side dramatically. “ But,  Daddy, I love him!” 

He squealed and darted out of the way when Tony went to step on him. From somewhere nearby, he could hear laughter that sounded suspiciously like the off-brand Green Arrow. Wait, was Arrow  the  off-brand?

Realizing this was no time to be concerned about studio rivalries, Wade got to his feet and held up his hands in surrender. Again. How many times were they going to play this same scene?

“How many times are we going to play this same scene?” Wade asked nonchalantly.

Tony looked like he was barely holding himself back from rolling his eyes. Then a hand clapped down on his ironclad shoulder with an iron grip and the weight of an iron anvil and . . . who was saying something?

“I think we’ve made our point, Tony.” 

Oh, it was Cap. Vehemently, Wade nodded and said, “Yessir. Point made. Several times over in fact.”

He cowered as Tony raised a fist then played it off by hooking his hands behind his head and stepping away. Thankfully, Tony stayed back.

“Thanks, Mama Cap, you’re really saving my ass here.”

Steve blanched.

There went that laughter again and Wade tilted his head towards Hawkeye, who was talking into a phone. A DP phone.  _His_ phone. The one he used to call his sweet baby boy. Incidentally, he had left his  _professional mercenary_ phone at home. Wait.

“Hey, bird brain! You talking to my munchkin?” Wade called over, feeling a flash of anger. He hadn’t wanted Peter to know about this little meeting. He’d purposefully left a note that was vague enough to not let Peter in on it but precise enough that he knew the kid wouldn’t question it.

“What the hell do you mean, _your_ munchkin?” Tony hissed.

“Tony—” Steve started, still holding him back by the shoulder.

“Yeah! He can be _your_ son, but he’s my munchkin! I even got it trademarked! His title is Peter the Munchkin™, property of Wade Wilson.” Wade barely gave him a glance but he caught the DP phone as Barton tossed it to him. 

“No worries, Wilson, I filled him in.”

“What did you tell him?”

Barton shrugged. “That he needs to remember to use protection.”

Tony’s shout of “What the fuck?” was overlapped with Wade’s “Hey, I’m clean!”

They both stopped and looked at each other for a long moment. Then they turned their eyes to Barton who was trying to look contrite but was poorly hiding his amusement.

Simultaneously, Wade said, “We haven’t even gotten that far,” just as Tony grumbled, “I thought we agreed not to tell him.”

“What?”

“What?”

Wade was squinting at Tony who was eyeing him with a mirrored expression.

“Anyway, what the hell, Barton?” Tony spoke first.

The archer just shrugged a shoulder at Iron Dad and winked at Wade.

With a twisted mouth, Wade raised his mask to bare his lips, mouthing the words, “ _Cover me_ ,” and winked back before darting away. 

Even when Tony called out an angry, “Deadpool, get back here!” Wade didn’t hesitate to pull a few (awesome) parkour moves and ditch the meeting. He had his phone back after all, he could easily call Peter now, given Clint hadn’t told him something to hate Wade forever about.

He probably wouldn’t do that. Right? Right.

“Ugh . . . I’m sorry you got all caught up in this,” Wade mumbled as if Peter could hear him. He shook his head and continued on his way towards somewhere safe. 

 

_. . ._

 

_Three months earlier_

 

Peter was sleeping.

Even though Wade had been keeping up commentary through their movie binge, he had looked down a few minutes ago to see Peter’s eyes shut, his shoulders moving with the gentle movement of steady breathing. 

His head was pillowed on Wade’s thigh, probably as payback for Wade stealing his lap for a little catnap of his own earlier. Like Peter had done for him, Wade had a hand resting in his hair, slowly petting him; that was probably what put him to sleep.

Wade could have squealed in happiness at how absolutely adorable the kid was being. As it was, he settled for letting out a sigh and smiling fondly.

Truth be told, he was so enamoured it felt like his heart was going to burst inside his chest. Not that that would kill him, rather it might give him a reprieve from the heartwrenchingly beautiful creature before him. Sometimes, even for him, it was hard to be around Peter for too long.

But he’d gladly die a thousand times before he’d let this moment get away.

Wade was pleased, mostly with himself, how far he and Peter had come. That a person had come to trust him enough to be vulnerable was a feat in and of itself. That it was Peter  _fucking_ Parker? Now that . . . that was a divine miracle. Or perhaps Wade could simply thank the mutant spider which changed Peter’s destiny forever.

Now he was getting into star stuff and angels, he figured to stop while he was ahead.

“Oh, baby boy,” Wade murmured. 

He leaned down to press his lips to the top of Peter’s head—gently so it would not wake him. Sure, maybe Wade had some impure intentions when it came to Peter, but that didn’t mean he didn’t genuinely care. If all they would ever be was friends, that would be enough.

Peter kept breathing slowly, hardly moving. Wade lay his head back against the couch, determined to make the most of their lazy afternoon.

 

. . .

 

_One year earlier_

 

“Who do you think you are?” Spider-Man was shouting at the lumbering metal _thing_ which currently had a car pinned underfoot. There was a man in the car who was screaming. Nearby was the wreckage of a few other cars and the crumbled remains of a corner store.

The man inside the machine growled and then laughed, wild and cackling. “Who are  _you_ behind that mask? Spider-Man the great hero. Probably a nobody in your days off.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” Peter asked incredulously. 

Wade, from the side, yelled, “Yeah you prick, Spider-Man is the coolest!”

“You’re not helping!” Peter didn’t even turn to him but Wade knew he was the target of that taunt. Towards the current villain he said, “I don’t get days off from creeps like you. But you keep crawling out of the woodwork and taking up all my vacation days!”

Wade started laughing. He was sneaking around to flank the asshole, planning on stealing his attention back so Peter could make a move.

“Creeps like me?” The guy legitimately roared. “No one is like me!”

Upon seeing Peter’s subtle signal, Wade took over and called out, “Eh, you’d be surprised how many doppelgangers you have! I know like seventeen of mine! Or maybe those are alternate dimensional versions of myself.” Wade seriously pondered it. “I guess those would be the same thing, right?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Well, no, actually I’m just distracting you while my awesome arachnid friend sets up a trap!” Wade saw the moment confusion turned to realization, then rage. “Haha! Got you!” he crowed.

Just then, Peter shot a web from each hand, pulling the metal cage back into a trap, effectively halting its movement. 

“Damn you!” the—now trapped—man cursed. He struggled around but was fairly well secured. Peter jumped over and around to face him, hands on hips.

“Now,” Peter started, voice strong, “are you going to be a good boy and let the cops take you to jail? Or are you just going to make your life and mine harder?

With an almost petulant expression, our cocky little villain struggled again. Then, suddenly, he smiled. That was the only warning given before he ejected himself out of the trap—and straight into Spider-Man.

“Oh, shit! Spidey!” Wade yelled, just a little too late. He watched as Peter tried to move out of the way but the sheer mass of the guy (Seriously? He was like the same height as Wade but 50 lbs heavier. Totally not fair.) caught him anyway. Peter slammed into the ground with an _oof_ and didn’t immediately move.

Wade had wide eyes.

“Yo, what the fuck kind of cheap trick is that?” he ended up yelling as he stepped towards the pair. He drew his katanas as he advanced.

Unfortunately, the man was moving too, though his action was to stand and promptly kick the prone Spider-Man in the head. He grunted as he did it, a nasty look on his face.

A katana sailed through the air and pierced his leg, causing him to scream and fall to the ground, writhing in pain and gripping his meaty thigh.

Normally, Wade might mess around with a little thick thighs and dicks rising joke, but this time he just called, “Spidey, if you’re dead I’m gonna kill you!” He rounded on the guy, now staked through what hopefully was his femur. “And you!” Wade may as well have roared.

Without blinking, he took his katana back from where it was buried in flesh and held the tip to the bleeding man’s throat. He whimpered, probably realizing for the first time that he was now dealing with _Deadpool,_ not Spider-Man.

“What the fuck, man! Don’t kill me!”

“Hmm,” Wade hummed and tilted his head. “My impulse is to kill you anyway, and since a hundred percent of my impulse control is currently incapable of reacting, thanks to you, I guess you’re out of luck.”

He didn’t leave time for a response before stabbing him clean through the throat.

Threat neutralized, Wade turned to Peter, whose absence of movement nearly cracked Wade’s heart. He dropped to his knees, hands and ear to Peter’s chest. He choked when he heard a heartbeat. But with his ear to the boy’s mouth, he could hardly detect breathing.

“Sorry about this, baby,” Wade muttered before pulling the mask up to uncover bloodstained lips. It was obvious his nose was broken so Wade lifted the material more to see how bad the damage was. When he found blood on his cheeks, Wade nearly pulled the whole mask off, then actually did. There was a scrape on his forehead, and when Wade stuck his fingers into Peter’s hair, there was blood there, too.

When Wade surmised that the injuries were probably not life-threatening, he was caught between wanting to wait until Peter woke up, or carrying him away from the scene. And when Wade actually took a moment to look at the kid’s face he just about choked again.

“Oh, fuck me.”

Yes, yes indeed. Even coated with a few layers of blood, Peter was gorgeous; beyond beautiful. Why the hell had he hidden his face from Wade for so long?

It was a crime, he decided. A crime for this little superhero to be a perfect gentleman, comedian, _and_ be hot as fuck.

Wade whimpered a soft, “Aw jeez. I knew he was too good for me, but this? Why, God?”


End file.
